


An Education in History

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever may be said of Maglor's adoption of the twins, it was never said that they didn't have a very thorough education... albeit a very Fëanorian one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Education in History

Maedhros came to Maglor’s side, standing beside his brother in the high gallery walkway in companionable silence. For a while, they both looked down into the main courtyard, where the twins were lying in a patch of sun on the grass on a spread-out blanket, surrounded by ink pots, quills and a veritable storm of books and papers. The two children seemed to be fully absorbed in what they were doing, both concentrating hard; Elrond sat with his legs crossed, a very large book in his lap, which he was diligently peering down at while cross-referencing with some papers at his side, scribbling busily on a scroll on one knee. Elros lay on his stomach, his face a mask of determination that looked, Maedhros thought, as if he meant to fight a battle rather than tackle the intricacies of the written word.

Maedhros couldn’t help but smile as Maglor turned to him. “Well, Káno, it seems you’ve improved as a teacher since our brothers were growing up, to inspire that kind of dedication.”

Maglor smiled back, though wanly and a little sadly. “Well, these two have had different lives. Sometimes, I think we were spoiled for education in Tirion. Growing up at the Havens, these little ones haven’t had the opportunities we had.”

“Mmm” said Maedhros, and a slight, uncomfortable silence followed in which the words Maglor had not spoken rang clear as if he had said them aloud. He cleared his throat. “Well, what did you set them to work on?”

“Translation” said Maglor, clasping his hands briskly. “When they came to me they understood and even spoke a smattering of Quenya well, and a lot more… not so well, and but couldn’t write more than a terribly mangled sentence. They’re both very fast learners though, and have progressed in translation more quickly than I expected.”

“Quenya to Thindarin?”

Maglor nodded. “They’re getting better at grammar and at written comprehension, but they are not quite advanced enough in their vocabulary for translating from Thindarin to Quenya yet.” He wrinkled his nose. “Besides, the next stage will be to teach them to refine their Quenya phrasing; they use all these odd turns of phrase, like you wouldn’t believe. It must be the dialect of the Gondolindhrim they picked up. Father would fairly roll in his grave. If he had one, that is.”

Maedhros laughed wryly. “If that were the case, brother, he would have undermined Angband itself with his earth-shaking rolling long ago, and not because of any mere children.” He shook his head bitterly. “Ah, but there’s nothing that can be done about it now. But pray tell, what text did you give them to translate that would make him roll so?”

“My _Speeches_ , book three, tracts six to eighteen. After they’ve attempted it I shall have them compare with my own translation, and also with Faelinariel’s, though you know how I feel about the meal she made of my prose.” He wrinkled his nose. “Still, I suppose if nothing else it will teach them the a lesson on the heavy mantle of responsibility laid on the shoulders of the translator, and shall prove a useful exercise in comparison of stylistic differences in translation…. what?”

Maglor finally seemed to notice that Maedhros was staring at him. Maedhros raised an eyebrow. “The _Speeches_? Book three… isn’t that…”

“Father’s speeches in Tirion, yes” said Maglor, nodding blithely. “Perhaps I shall tie it in with their history lessons. I thought their next essays could be on the subject. The poltical factions of Tirion at the time of the Darkening, the role of the Valar, that sort of thing. It will be interesting to see what they come out with, as in all _other_ subjects they copy blatantly from each other, without fail. But not in history. The two of them have markedly different views on everything, it would seem.” Maglor smiled. “It’s fascinating to watch.”

“History…” Maedhros was shaking his head. “Káno, how can you call it _history_? It’s still…”

“Still happening? Well, of course! But it’s history for _them_ though, Nelyo” said Maglor, breaking into his thoughts.

“What, because they’re half-mortal?” Maedhros frowned. “You shouldn’t…”

“No” Maglor interrupted. “Not because they’re half-mortal. History is history. Emotionally charged, relevant to the present, certainly, but history nonetheless. And what sort of teacher would I be if I did not teach it to them?”

“Yes but…” Maedhros kept staring at the children, absorbed in their work. They seemed to be arguing over something in Elros’ translation, Elrond hitting his brother affectionately over the head with a rolled up scroll. He shook his head, looking away. “But… they’re part of it. Father’s quest… us… we’re all…”

“Yes” said Maglor simply. “We’re part of it, and so are they. But Nelyo, that will _always_ be true. That is our fate, and theirs. That is how the world works.”

Maedhros looked at him for a long while, and then at the twins, then back at his brother, and found he had nothing to say to that.


End file.
